Superseding Wrath
by Sayuri-2012
Summary: A post-ep one-shot for "Wrath" - in this she does open the door. E/O


**A/N I have been watching old episodes and couldn't help myself... I felt the need to write something a little sappy after all the intense drama in my other stories at the moment. This takes place immediately after the final scene in "Wrath" (Season 3, episode 2 - which I'm sure everyone knows, lol). In the final scene Olivia is in tears in her apartment and Elliot goes over there, but she doesn't answer the door... in my story she does. **

Post-ep to 'Wrath'

_What I wish would have happened. _

_(And for convenience in this universe there is no Kathy)_

She sat in the darkened room, rain pouring down relentlessly outside, tears silently streaming down her face. She had heard the knocking and buzzing and she had known it was him, yet she had been unable to move. She had been pissed off beyond belief when he had gone behind her back and put that detail on her. He may as well have taken an announcement out in the Ledger telling the whole world that he didn't believe she could do her job any more; that she needed extra protection – more than any of the others would need. As if he would have put up with that! It was only later once she had returned home and had time to think about it more calmly that she acknowledged her over-reaction. Deep down she knew he had done it, not because he didn't trust her to do her job, not because he had lost his respect for her as a detective and as his partner, but simply because he was scared for her safety. He cared about her. He cared what happened to her. It was a dizzying revelation and she didn't quite know what to do with it.

The knocking ceased. Was that it? Had he given up and gone home? Another tear worked its way down her cheek and she wished she had ignored her stubborn refusal to accept his help and had just let him in. Why hadn't she? These cases got to them all sometimes and he'd seen her upset before. The fact he was here now suggested he knew that her outburst had been just that: an instinctive reaction to events, born from a need to appear unwaveringly strong and competent to anyone who was willing to be fooled. It was hardly surprising that he had given up and left after the way she had spoken to him in front of their colleagues, embarrassing him, cutting him out, angry with him just because he had wanted to keep her safe. What was wrong with that? The man was just concerned for his partner. Would it have killed her to have let him in just now and apologised to him?

She wasn't in the mood to be patronized though, told that her reaction was totally normal in that 'for a woman anyway' kind of a tone that she imagined he would use. That wasn't really fair though. He had always respected her, treated her as an equal. These were her issues, not his. In any case his reactions to the rough cases were no more or less intense than hers. Of course he would likely just have punched an additional dent into his locker or something, rather than burst into tears. None of them were perfect. They all felt and they all struggled to deal with the things they saw and witnessed day in and day out.

She heard another knock on her door. This time it seemed softer, less demanding somehow, less frantic. It wasn't a 'let me in now' kind of a plea, but more of an 'I'm out here, talk to me' request. She almost smiled at her own ridiculousness… a knock was a knock. She was definitely reading way too much into it.

Something still made her stand and head towards the door. She peeked through the peephole and saw him standing there. He looked subdued. His head was lowered and she couldn't see his face properly. He looked smaller somehow.

"Liv," she heard him say quietly. "I know you're there. Please open the door."

She paused for a few seconds, but then she found her fingers responding, fingering the chain, pulling at it and then slowly turning the lock. As soon as she was finished he pushed the door open gently, raising his head so that his eyes met hers. She saw the apology in his expression and she knew he was devastated that he had hurt her and scared that he had risked their partnership and she suddenly felt terrible for pushing him away. The gentleness in his eyes, the warmth in his smile as he thanked her for letting him in, his scent which she was suddenly all too aware of as he closed the door behind him and tentatively stepped closer to her, her whole body's alertness to his presence; it all combined to make her suddenly and explicably yearn to feel him wrap his arms around her, bring her close to him and offer her a comfort that she had no idea she had even wanted.

The intensity of her sudden longing for his touch astounded her and suddenly afraid that he would recognise it in her eyes, she started to turn away, lowering her head, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed that she had allowed herself to let her guard down and feel something so primal… yet so inappropriate. She wished she hadn't let him in after all. There was only one way this was going to end. Falling in love with her partner was just not an acceptable option. Then she felt his hand on her arm, gently pulling her back around to face him and preventing her from moving away.

"El," she whispered weakly. She felt the strength drain from her body. She couldn't fight him. Did he know that? Did he know that things had shifted? Did he realise the power he now held over her? Once again his eyes stared intensely into hers and she suddenly felt light-headed. She felt his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, but she wasn't sure it was really helping. The sensation of his touch was too overwhelming. She closed her eyes briefly. _Get a grip_, she told herself sternly before opening them again. Was this what it was really like to fall apart? Was there something wrong with her?

One of his hands left her shoulder, reached upwards and then he was touching her face, wiping her cheek gently, soaking up the moisture there.

"I'm fine," she muttered weakly, silently willing him to remove his hands from her body so that she would have the slightest chance of pulling herself back together, yet at the same time dreading that he actually would.

"It's OK, Liv," he said quietly. His eyes bore into hers and she felt his sincerity. Feeling self-conscious, she closed hers, unable to stand the intimate gaze any longer. She could feel fresh tears brimming.

"It's OK," he repeated, his earnestness so apparent that in that moment she couldn't help but want to believe him. Then he tightened his grip, drawing her close to him so that her head was now pressed up against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her back, one hand resting on the back of her head, holding her tightly and firmly, letting her know that he was there for her and would never think any less of her for accepting that.

She leant into him, taking in his scent more deeply, enjoying the sensation of being held so assuredly, dizzied by the knowledge that he was holding her so intimately like this, that he wanted her to feel his genuine concern and affection for her. She was acutely aware of everywhere they were in physical contact and her whole body was tingling in anticipation. She felt his chin nuzzling into her neck, the stubble tickling her slightly, but not uncomfortably so. The nervousness in her stomach intensified and she held her breath waiting for his next move, part of her screaming that this was wrong, part of her saying to hell with it. Then she felt his hands on the sides of her face, pulling her head back slightly giving him room. She was left in no doubt what he intended as he stared into her eyes, silently asking her permission. Then he leaned in, pressed his lips to hers and instantly and instinctively she found herself responding, no longer able to process anything other than the delicious sensation of the kiss and the knowledge that there was really nowhere else she would rather be than standing here right now, like this.


End file.
